Cold Tea
by HollandMarie
Summary: John is lost after Sherlock jumped. He didn't know what to do, who to turn to. And now his tea's gone cold.


John's tea was cold. Had been for a long while now. Not that that mattered- He didn't even notice. It just sat there, untouched, as he stared at the smiley face up on the wall.

The tea was just how he liked it, and he didn't care. Mrs. Hudson had made it for him hours ago, hoping it would coax him into the kitchen so he could eat something. But when that failed, she set it on the table so that maybe he'd drink it.

But no, her attempts were barely even acknowledged. He was lost in his mind. Trying to find a way.

It wasn't possible. This couldn't be true. He had to have missed something, somewhere, that would explain it.

Yet every idea that passed through his mind was shot down by logic almost instantly. With every tick of the second hand, he could feel hope slipping away. Yet he just couldn't accept the truth- Sherlock hadn't made it out of this one. There was no clever twist, no trick of the light, no smoke and mirrors.

But something was holding John back. He had all the evidence right in front of him- Hell, he'd seen it for himself. Sherlock was gone. Dead and gone. Had been since he went to the rooftop.

He refused to accept that anything Sherlock told him was a lie. He knew the truth. Sherlock Holmes was eccentric, yes. Secretive, definitely. But not a liar. Not to John. Never to John.

If Moriarty hadn't already taken his own life, John would have gladly been the one behind the gun, without a second's thought.

But now he had nothing. No one believed him. Sherlock was a fraud. And poor Richard Brooke, his innocent victim. It made John sick. It had been a long while since he'd voluntarily entered a conversation with someone that wasn't absolutely necessary.

He sighed, resigned. Without thought, he reached for the mug, taking a long sip.

And then immediately spit it out in disgust.

"Your tea is cold."

John couldn't move fast enough. The only voice he'd heard all day was Mrs. Hudson's, and this definitely wasn't her.

He couldn't believe it. He must be seeing things now. This was it. He'd gone mad. This couldn't be real. It didn't make sense.

"Get yourself together, John. You knew this day would come."

_I've died,_ John thought. _I've died and they've sent him to retrieve me._ And as crazy as that thought was, it made more sense than what was right in front of him.

"Sherlock...?"

The man in front of him grinned. "There you go, John, use your words. How about a sentence now?"

"How did you survive? You're supposed to be dead!" he was angry now. Furious, even. "How dare you do that to me!"

Sherlock's eyes met his, and for once, he saw something like shock there. John was quick to correct himself.

"Us... Mrs. Hudson. She's been a mess."  
"Well, I have to admit, this isn't the welcome I was expecting from you."

John took a deep breath before continuing. "I thought you were dead. I went to your funeral. There's a grave with your name on it, Sherlock. How the hell did you get away with this one?"

"That doesn't matter now. Believe me, you wouldn't understand it in the least if I did explain it."

"Stop it! You've just come back from the dead, for God's sake! At least stop belittling me for a moment!"

Silence fell on them. John was standing just a few inches from Sherlock now, right in the middle of the room. Slowly, he collected himself enough to say what had been running through his head since that last phone call from the man in front of him.

"I never got to tell you something... I never realized how much I wanted- _Needed _to say it, before you were gone. But every day... It's been the first thing I thought of every day. It's been in my dreams. You've haunted me, and yet here you are..." John sighed. "Listen, this is stupid and I know you won't care or feel the same way but... I need to say this. Before we go any farther with this."

Sherlock didn't say anything. Something in his expression told John to continue.

"We've known each other for a long time, Sherlock... I thought the world was going to end when you were gone. I didn't know what to do. I never realized how much you meant to me. Sherlock, I just..." he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He was afraid to see the reaction he was going to get. "I love you, Sherlock."

Silence. Long, painful silence. But still, he couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't breath. It was like the air around him had solidified, keeping him in place forever.

It all shattered when Sherlock pulled him into a long, passionate, powerful kiss.

And everything was fine. In that instant, all the misery had been worth it. Because Sherlock was here, back from the dead.

When they finally separated, Sherlock gazed into John's eyes and said the words he'd dreamed of for so long. "I love you too, John."

And for that short time, neither of them could dream of a better world to live in.

Because there were no more secrets between them, no more hidden feelings. And in that moment, no force in the world could tear them down.


End file.
